


the curse and the prayer

by paravin



Series: down this broken line [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29984343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paravin/pseuds/paravin
Summary: While hunting the High Celebrant, Crow and Glint find more than they bargained for in the Ascendant Plane.
Relationships: The Crow & Glint (Destiny), The Crow & Uldren Sov (Destiny)
Series: down this broken line [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206470
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	the curse and the prayer

**Author's Note:**

> set during the High Celebrant mission.
> 
> warning for some vague selfcest vibes, I guess, but nothing major.

“We’re trapped in here?”

The High Celebrant bellows beneath them, and Crow stumbles back a step. At his side, Glint’s light pulses with fear. 

“I’m sure the Guardian will be able to find another way in,” Glint says, although it lacks some of his usual conviction. “They wouldn’t just leave us here.”

“I don’t think they have much of a choice,” Crow points out. “If it sealed the way behind itself…”

The ground shakes as the High Celebrant’s sword clashes into the rock, and Crow looks around for any sign of an exit. The darkness seems to shift around him, the fabric of it pushed and pulled by unseen forces, and he backs off to where a lone light is affixed to a broken pillar. 

_Perhaps if we hadn’t meddled with history, none of this would have happened._

Crow starts at the whisper, whipping around to look behind him, but despite his voice echoing in the void, Osiris is nowhere to be seen. 

“Crow?” 

There’s worry in Glint’s tone and Crow shakes his head. “I-I’m fine. I just thought I heard Osiris.”

“Over comms?”

Crow’s silence is evidently enough of an answer, and Glint bobs in the air. His light is sharp in the gloom but the beam of it barely stretches half the distance it usually would. 

Below them, the High Celebrant disappears. The darkness contracts, like an intake of breath, but the exhale comes with a crashing roar when the Celebrant appears again in front of them. Glint yelps, vanishing back into the light, and Crow can’t do much more than raise an arm in self-defence as the sword swings down.

His arm snaps at the impact, the force of it enough to knock him off the edge, and he barely makes his jump to the next rock floating in the void. Pain sears through him as he runs, his shattered arm cradled to his chest, and he skids down a long slope to land on a platform of darkened crystal.

_This all started with the Dreaming City. I shall return to finish it._

The woman’s voice sinks into his broken bones, and the air feels cold when he breathes in. The Celebrant’s footsteps thump behind him, accompanied by the screech of the sword dragging along rock, and Crow slides off the edge of the platform to hide along a thin ledge in the rock beneath. 

“Glint-”

He feels the thread of Glint’s light around his arm even before he reappears. “Did you hear another voice?”

Crow nods. “A woman. The same one as before, I think — the regal one.”

Glint’s shell twitches but he’s silent as he knits Crow’s bones back together. 

_It serves other purposes now._

Crow flinches at the murmur of Osiris’ voice but just shakes his head when Glint looks up at him, questioning. 

“Maybe we can contact the Guardian again?” Glint says, and Crow knows the level of concern in his voice isn’t just down to the Celebrant. “Get a message out?”

Putting his back to the rock, Crow flexes his newly-healed hand and tries not to listen to the skitter-thump of thrall above them as he speaks into nothingness. The message is more of a farewell than he intended, offering absolution and gratitude to the Guardian as much as he can, and Glint bumps sadly against his shoulder when he finishes. 

“We aren’t going to die here,” Glint says with soft determination. “I didn’t lose you to the Spider and I’m not going to lose you to Xivu Arath either.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Crow just cups Glint’s shell in a hug. 

It’s interrupted by the screech of a Hive wizard out in the dark and Crow steels himself as he says, “We should move.”

_This is going to hurt…_

Crow freezes. The voice is his own, layered with a woman’s whispers, but as thrall leap down to his ledge, he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. 

A knife flies from his hands in a streak of flame, exploding into fire that consumes a cluster of the thrall, but he feels their hands on his calves and ankles, tugging at his cloak as he hauls himself back up the rock. 

He sprints for the nearest light. There’s a clearing up ahead, bright amid the debris, and he presses onward at speed. The rocks spin and twist beneath his feet but his eyes widen when he sees the familiar sheen of a portal beneath the arch of a gazebo.

Tossing a grenade behind him, he clears the last jump and runs full-tilt for the portal. It hangs, silent and alone above a slab draped in a funereal shroud, and he feels Glint’s hesitation as he warns, “Crow, something’s wrong…”

_Something’s wrong._

It’s his own voice again, fearful in a way Crow is intimately familiar with, but as the darkness hums again with the approach of the Celebrant, Crow is low on options.

His hand closes around Glint’s shell and he offers up a silent apology as he throws himself through the portal. 

He lands hard on his knees in the grass.

For a second, he thinks he’s made it back to the Dreaming City, to the gardens amid the spires, but in place of the magic of the Awoken, there’s something older in the air. Red and white flowers cover the field around him and a low, dense fog cloaks the outline of the cliffs in the distance. 

“Glint?”

His hand is empty. 

His light is still there, although it sits muted in his chest, and Crow pushes himself to his feet, panicked. “Glint! Where are you?”

“Finally,” a voice drawls from behind him. “I was beginning to lose hope.”

The voice isn’t Glint’s but it sparks awful recognition all the same. Crow whirls around, solar grenade building in his hand, but freezes when he sees the man standing behind him. 

Crow’s own face smirks back at him. “At least you made it eventually, I suppose.”

Crow’s mouth opens and closes. The other him is dressed identically, save for a fine, gold-edged cloak instead of Crow’s ragged one, but as he steps forward, he carries himself with the confidence of someone who’s never been beaten to death for simply showing his face.

Crow steps back sharply as the grenade dissipates. “W- What are you?”

The man smiles. “Think of me as a ghost. Particularly since you seem to have misplaced your other one.”

Anger flares and Crow grasps onto it as an alternative to terror. “What did you do with Glint?”

“Me?” The man’s hand goes to his chest in mock innocence before he lapses into a sneer. “Trust me, I wouldn’t touch that piece of scrap. It just isn’t welcome here, that’s all.”

He takes another step forward but rolls his eyes when Crow takes a matching step back. “Really? You’re going to retreat like a frightened child? I knew you were a coward but come on…”

Bristling at the insult, Crow holds his ground. “Who are you?”

The man arches an eyebrow. The familiarity of the expression makes Crow feel sick. “Please don’t tell me haven’t even learned your own name.”

Crow shakes his head. “You aren’t me.”

“How many Guardians have killed you now? It must be dozens at this point,” the man says. “I find it hard to believe that none of them mentioned my name. I did leave quite an impression.”

Crow swallows. The details are always difficult to remember, the rage and grief of his killers jumbling with the agony of death, but the name sits just below the surface of his mind, alongside the whispers of ‘father’ from rotting tongues. 

“Uldren.”

Uldren smiles. “Was that really so hard?”

He strolls closer, and Crow’s gaze catches on the dark waves that move across his skin. “Where am I? How are you here?”

Uldren’s nose crinkles in distaste. “Is there something about the ‘light’ that turns people into useless idiots or is this just a personal failing?” His eyes linger on the insignia on Crow’s cloak. “ _Another_ personal failing, that is.”

Spider’s sigil is bright in the fog, a searing brand on his chest, and Crow hunches in on himself as he murmurs, “You aren’t real. You died.”

“So that you and your Traveler could take my body for a joy-ride, apparently.” 

He reaches out. Crow half-expects his fingers to pass right through him but he jolts when Uldren pokes him in the side. 

He clings to the fact that his armor is in the way, that Uldren can’t see the curve of his ribs or know how many days it’s been since Spider last gave him a decent meal, but that doesn’t stop his cheeks darkening in shame when Uldren sneers, “I see you’re making such good use of it.”

Crow knocks Uldren’s hand away and folds his arms across his chest. He reaches for Glint, desperate for some kind of reassurance, but there’s nothing. “Don’t touch me.”

“You know, at first I wondered if this was some kind of cosmic penance,” Uldren says, ignoring him. He paces in a slow circle around him and Crow tenses in preparation for a knife in the back. “The universe getting revenge for my so-called crimes by making me into something as weak and pathetic as you.”

Crow can’t help his flinch, even as he glowers at Uldren. 

“I may not like them but the other Lightbearers are out there slaying gods, winning wars, taking down forces more powerful than the entire Awoken fleet,” Uldren says, mocking. “ And there you were, living in squalor, eating vermin just to survive, and speaking to no-one but your worthless little drone.”

The accuracy of the comparison stings, and Crow drops his gaze to the ground as the gold of Uldren’s eyes flares. “And then along came the Spider. That part, I could almost respect, you know? Live through the pain, endure the humiliation, and claw your way back into some semblence of power. But clearly you’re just determined to disappoint.”

He moves up, into Crow’s space, and Crow recoils when Uldren’s hand curls in the front of his cloak. His skin crawls at the sensation of being so near to something that looks so much like him but Uldren evidently has no such hesitation as he leans in close. “You could be so much more.”

“Like you?” Crow spits. “Someone people hate so much that even your death won’t satisfy them?”

The corners of Uldren’s lips twitch in a smile. He moves viper-quick, the back of his hand catching Crow high on the cheek as he pushes him away, and the combined force is enough to knock Crow down into the grass.

The crimson flowers sway around him as he looks up in shock, but Uldren just eyes at him with contempt as he cracks his knuckles.

“Looks like you really took those lessons from Spider to heart,” he taunts. “Is that all you’re good for now? A punching bag? An obedient pet on a leash?” His eyes glow in the dim light. “Or just on your knees for whoever’s strong enough to put you there?”

Crow surges to his feet. Uldren stumbles backward when Crow shoves him hard in the chest but he keeps his balance as Crow retorts, “I don’t have a choice! I won’t put Glint in danger!”

Uldren laughs. “ _Glint_? You’re under the heel of some pretender to the throne just because of your ghost? Oh, Crow.”

His voice is almost pitying as he closes the gap between them. Braced for another blow, Crow goes still when Uldren’s cold fingers come up to grip his jaw.

“I had an army,” he murmurs. “I had a city, a _people_ , at my disposal. Light and dark bent to my will, even when I was nothing more than a mortal. Even without your ghost, think of the power you could wield.”

Crow shakes his head, trying to pull away, but Uldren’s grip doesn’t loosen. “No,” Crow grits out. “I’m not you. I’m not a murderer.”

“No?” Uldren leans in, his lips brushing the shell of Crow’s ear. “If given the chance, you wouldn’t even kill Spider?”

The breath catches in Crow’s throat. “N-No. I don’t—”

“Liar,” Uldren sing-songs in his ear. “All the parts of me are still in there somewhere, Crow. You’ve been a good pet but I know exactly how much you want to watch Spider bleed out at your feet.” His teeth close around his earlobe and Crow shivers in disgust. “Let me guide you.”

“Let go of me,” Crow hisses. “I don’t want your help.”

Uldren pulls back just enough that Crow can see his expression again. His eyes track over Crow’s face, looking for something Crow doesn’t know how to conceal, but his fingers dig into Crow’s jaw as he asks, “Then tell me, what _do_ you want? Freedom from Spider’s leash? Enough power to stop anyone from hurting you again?” His grip loosens, his thumb stroking along Crow’s cheek as he promises, “I can help.”

Uldren’s presence is a knife between his ribs, pushing in deeper with every breath, but Crow hesitates as he considers the dream of freedom, of safety. 

It fades almost as soon as it arises. He hasn’t survived this long under Spider’s boot by fixating on impossible fantasies, but instead by relying on Glint’s quiet, steady optimism. 

He’s learned to keep his wants small: a meal, some sleep, no broken bones. The longer he spends with Osiris and the Guardian, the more his desires grow — to discover some of the secrets of the world, to learn how to use his light, to be treated as a person — but as much as Crow dreads the day when Spider puts an end to all of it, there’s nothing his old self can do to help him achieve any of them.

“No.” 

From the way Uldren blinks, it comes out louder than Crow expected but he steels himself as he pushes Uldren away. “I don’t want your help,” he says again, more confident this time. “I don’t need it.”

Uldren laughs. “I beg to differ. Just look at you.”

The familiar burn of humiliation is overwritten by anger. “I’m not you. I’m not a killer.”

“No, you’re a slave,” Uldren snaps. “I just hoped you wanted to be more than that.”

“I’m a Lightbearer,” Crow says. “I’m helping people.” He looks Uldren over in disgust. “I don’t know who or what you are, but I have my ghost and I have my light; I don’t need anything from you.”

His hand goes to the butt of his gun, in preparation for some kind of anger or retaliation, but the fire in Uldren’s eyes fades back to cool amusement. 

The dark wisps still shimmer over his skin as he holds his hands up in surrender. “Have it your way. I can’t say I’ll enjoy watching you waste your potential but I’ll be here should you change your mind.”

Crow can’t hide his surprise when Uldren just turns on his heel, strolling back out into the fog. The low tune of his whistle carries across the swaying flowers and Crow exhales in relief when he sees another portal open up in front of him. 

With one last glance at his past self, he steps through.

“Well, that went better than I expected!”

Crow’s boots scuff against rock when he lands back amid the swirling darkness, and he looks down at the voice coming from his hand. “Glint?”

“I mean, we’re not back in the material plane,” Glint continues, “but I thought something was off about that portal. I’m glad it just brought us over here instead of somewhere worse!”

Crow frowns. “You didn’t see that?”

Floating free of his grip, Glint looks up at him in concern. “See what? If you mean the Celebrant, it’s approaching at your nine o’clock.” He bobs. “Rapidly.”

“I- That place,” Crow stammers. “The field, with the flowers. I know he said you weren’t welcome there but you didn’t feel it?”

“He?” Glint’s shell rotates, puzzled. “Who’s he? What field?” He scans him. “Did you hit your head?”

“No, I-”

There’s a roar to Crow’s left before he can answer. He can’t dodge in time to avoid the Celebrant’s sword and he crumples to the ground with a yell of pain as his legs break under the force of it. 

“Crow!”

Glint disappears as the Celebrant swings again, and Crow cries out when the Celebrant’s hand closes in the front of his cloak to lift him off the ground. His struggles are little more than the patter of rain against its huge arm and he braces for the obliteration of impact when the Celebrant hurls him off the edge into the abyss.

He revives moments later, healed but light-headed, to the sound of a welcome voice in his ear. “Crow, we’re in the Ascendant Plane! Do you read us?”

Beside him, Glint bounces in relief, and Crow manages a smile as he scans the area for the Celebrant. 

_Enough power to stop anyone from hurting you again?_

Uldren’s voice hums in the darkness but Crow pushes down his lingering fear as he promises, “Nothing in here I can’t handle.”


End file.
